The Captains' Dance
by Carrie L
Summary: "You had me at 'You are speaking to a member of my crew.'" During the Caretaker episode, Janeway and Chakotay resort to a little-known ritual in an attempt to establish trust. Epilogue now up. AU. J/C
1. Chapter 1

_An AU introduction to the whole Voyager series, to put the odd J/C relationship in a different light._

Captain Kathryn Janeway sat watching the man beside her, the near-stranger she must now trust with the lives of all her crew. She had understood him the moment he spoke the words "Captains' Dance." The practice dated from the earliest days of space exploration, long before humans entered the game, although human captains had engaged in the practice from time to time. Starfleet considered it part of the mythology of space travel and took no formal position on its propriety. Janeway had first heard it explained during an Academy training exercise led by a Vulcan professor named Sunek. They were simulating first contact situations when another cadet raised the question of a mysterious ritual known as the Captains' Dance.

Sunek had hesitated, then suspended the simulation to sit the cadets down on a rock outcropping for some impromptu instruction.

"The Captains' Dance," he had explained, "is a highly risky maneuver attempted only in survival situations where trust must be forged quickly. It is possible in first contact situations, and therefore relevant to today's instructional goals. A Captains' Dance takes place in private between two starship captains. During the encounter, the goal is to share the maximum degree of physical and emotional intimacy, to share personal secrets that will allow each captain a rare degree of insight into the other's character."

"Exactly what kind of physical intimacy are you talking about?" asked the cadet who had brought up the subject, a Bajoran named Chalan Morio who specialized in awkward questions. "Do you mean sex?"

Sunek, being Vulcan, did not stumble over his answer. "For Vulcans, who are physiologically incompatible with many Alpha quadrant races, the Captains' Dance typically consists only of a deep mind meld – the deepest form of intimacy for a Vulcan, but not quite the full physical expression of the traditional Captains' Dance. For sexually compatible captains, the ritual means sexual intimacy, an expression of trust and mutual vulnerability that can cement a shaky alliance."

Janeway had ventured a question. "Do the crews know what's going on?" Although she had difficulty imagining circumstances in which she would consider a Captains' Dance, she had far more difficulty imagining how she would explain it to her crew, let alone hold her head up around them afterward.

"A Captains' Dance must be kept strictly private between the two leaders involved, and never mentioned after its conclusion," Sunek had told them. "I warn against it for humans, although I must confess that my one experience with the ritual was a transformative moment in my life. My knowledge of my counterpart added greatly to my own comprehension of her species."

"What species was that?" Chalan Morio had wanted to know.

"I cannot speak of it," Sunek answered.

Young Ensign Janeway had tried to ask more questions about the practicalities of the ritual, but Sunek had changed the subject to a discussion of the next set of tactical challenges in their training exercise. She remembered being very disappointed. She had come across mentions of the Captains' Dance here and there in histories of space travel – Captain Kirk seemed to have been an enthusiastic practitioner – but until this day, she had found nobody willing to discuss what exactly the ritual was. Her father had reacted as if she'd asked about his own sex life and told her she had no reason to know about such things.

Then at the end of the exercise, as they were flying back to the starbase, Sunek had taken a seat beside her and said in a voice only she could hear: "You must only consider a Captains' Dance with a worthy partner, someone with whom you would consider intimacy under less urgent circumstances. Consider carefully, but do not dismiss it out of hand. The value correlates highly with the risk."

Sunek had moved off quickly to finish his report on the training exercise and Janeway had been left with a sense that a door had opened on a dark and dangerous region, with no proper training on how to navigate. Aboard Voyager, faced with a dangerous new quadrant of space to navigate, the memory came back to her as fully formed as if Sunek had spoken his warning the day before.

To be continued….


	2. Chapter 2

Janeway had few officers to consult about staff choices. The decisions ultimately rested with her alone, but she would have appreciated Commander Cavit's absurdly detailed and humorless staffing analyses – were he not lying in a morgue cooler in Sickbay. Tuvok had given his wise counsel about the need to integrate the crews while maintaining Starfleet standards, and his opinions about the merits of the senior Maquis crew. He approved of Chakotay, Torres, and Ayala, but suggested that a Bajoran woman Janeway hadn't met yet was a loose cannon (not his term, but Janeway got the point) who should be settled on the nearest M class planet.

The ship's database held the full service records of all the candidates for bridge crew, including Captain Chakotay. Janeway had studied the file before the mission, but now she returned to it with even greater interest. Before resigning Starfleet to join the Maquis, he had been an exemplary officer, marked for the highest command. There could be no doubt about his qualifications as first officer. But _trust_ was the essential thing. Given his Maquis past, would his loyalty really be to her and Voyager's entire crew, or would he seek a different agenda? Would he undermine her? And what kind of man would throw away a Starfleet career to join a group so many labeled terrorists? There was no guidance but gut instinct on these critical questions.

Without the luxury of much time for contemplation, Janeway made the command decision she had been trained to make. While the Starfleet crew were still making repairs and the Maquis crew still confined to a cargo bay, she called Chakotay into her ready room. Without prelude, she offered him the position of first officer. He was standing in front of her desk, only a few feet from her, not at attention but not fully at ease. He still wore his Maquis clothing, not so much a uniform as a collection of comfortable clothes that probably hid stains, burns, and dirt better than hers. At her words, he gave a few short nods, as if he had been expecting this conversation.

"Are you really comfortable with a Maquis sitting right next to you on the bridge?" he asked. "Wasn't your mission to arrest me?"

Janeway stepped out from behind the desk. He was tall enough that she strained to stand as straight as she could, almost on tip-toe in the high-heeled boots she used for what little increase in stature they could provide. She stayed a few feet from him, where she wouldn't have to crane her neck quite so hard to look him in the eye.

"It was," she confirmed. "But as you know, everything's changed. I have no new orders from Starfleet and I don't expect more any time soon. We'll have to make this up as we go along. My only condition is that we do it as a Starfleet crew."

Chakotay looked her over, from the tight bun, to the uniform that she had kept crisp in spite of everything, to the polished boots. She knew how she looked. The more buttoned-up she was, the better crewmen listened and the higher they maintained their personal standards. It wasn't her job to look approachable. She met his gaze with a defiant glare. Judge her, would he? She'd teach him a thing or two about running a starship before all this was over, she was sure of that.

"I'll do it on one condition," he answered. "I'll be your Starfleet first officer, and I'll help you incorporate the Maquis into a Starfleet crew, but first I need to know exactly who I'm dealing with." Chakotay straightened a little himself, dramatizing the difference in their sizes. She felt not so much that he was trying to intimidate her, but that he wanted her to know he would defend his crew. As her first instinct had been when he appeared on her bridge, she found herself liking him in spite of herself. He seemed steady and earnest, nothing like the cocky space cowboy she'd pictured sparring with Tom Paris.

Janeway tilted her head. "Okay. What is your condition, then?"

Some expression she couldn't identify passed across his face – part anxiety, part shadow. "I want a Captains' Dance," he said, in the same bold tones with which he might have demanded parley with a pirate captain.

At first, she was so surprised she nearly laughed out loud. An instant later, the significance of his words gripped her fully. The keen look on her face drained away like water from a sieve. She swallowed. She knew that her Captain's mask had fallen and left her face blank with shock. She struggled to regain the appearance of control.

_To be continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

_Note: I'm still figuring out the latter parts of this story. Feedback very welcome._

"Captains' Dance?" Janeway repeated.

"You're familiar with it?" Chakotay asked, although her reaction must have made that obvious.

"Yes." She lifted her chin. "You should know that I'm engaged."

His gaze didn't waver. "And I have a relationship with one of the Maquis. The Captains' Dance has nothing to do with the captains' personal lives. It's not a social interaction. It's a trust ritual. Have you ever done it?"

"No," she answered. A little gleam returned to her eyes. "Have you?"

She certainly would not say yes to the sort of man who used the ritual as some sort of dating game, but he didn't seem like that kind of man. He seemed reserved and private, a captain more in the tradition of Picard than Kirk, but with a different aspect from either of them – something spiritual, perhaps. All his Starfleet records bore out those personality traits. She acknowledged to herself the depth of her surprise at this request from a man like Chakotay. A Captains' Dance would require the same depth of self-revelation from him as from her – if he played fair. She experienced a fresh conviction, born of what she couldn't say, that he would play fair.

He shook his head without taking his eyes off her. "Never. It had never even occurred to me until this moment. But we're both taking an enormous risk in trusting the other."

Her mind leapt to the moment when he'd transported to her bridge and she'd faced off with him in defense of Tom Paris. Chakotay had looked down at her and something in his face had changed. She'd seen his eyes fall to her lips. In her gut, she suspected that he'd thought of the Captains' Dance right then, but it didn't matter. He was right. This decision they were making represented enormous risk for both of them, and for their crews. Each needed as much information about the other as they could possibly obtain.

"The value correlates highly with the risk," she said.

His eyebrows lifted slightly, questioningly.

"Something a professor once told me about the Captains' Dance."

His face grew reflective, as if he was perhaps drawing on his own cache of information about the Captains' Dance. "What else did your professor tell you?"

Janeway half-turned away and put a hand to her tense neck muscles. "Not nearly enough," she muttered. "What do you know about it?"

"I've been told," he said, "that it means an exchange of vulnerabilities. The creation of a bond of trust. And it's kept entirely private between the two captains."

Janeway nodded. "Yes. That's how I understand it. I was warned against it, for humans, but also told not to dismiss it out of hand." She wanted to mention the sexual intimacy of which Sunek had spoken, but somehow the words wouldn't come out of her mouth under the bright lights of the ready room. Besides, he knew what he was proposing. The Captains' Dance wouldn't be a notorious, whispered secret if it meant nothing more than a deep conversation.

"Take as much time to consider as you need," Chakotay told her with a chivalrous little bow of his head, as if he hadn't just propositioned her in so many words.

Part of her wanted to send him back to contemplate his outrageous request from the inside of the cargo bay for the next 10,000 light years or so, but a different part, which was growing stronger by the hour here in the Delta quadrant, was arguing for a new approach to challenges. The old playbook wasn't going to be nearly enough out here. Chakotay's own physical presence was arguing, too, in a way she would rather not allow to influence her decision. Janeway crossed her arms over her chest.

"I don't need to consider further," she answered, in her best tone of command. "A Captains' Dance is a logical step in this situation. I accept. My quarters, 2030 hours."


	4. Chapter 4

After much pacing in front of her closet, Janeway answered the door still in uniform, not a hair out of place, ready for inspection. She wanted to begin this Captains' Dance in the role of Captain, to be perfectly clear about the professional reasons why they were doing this. Chakotay stepped inside looking nervous, with both hands cupped around something she couldn't see.

"I didn't want to get caught carrying something like flowers to you, but I didn't want to come empty-handed. I made this. It's not much, but I want you to have it," he said as he opened his hands. On one palm sat a tiny wooden replica of the Valjean, his pulverized ship, detailed down to the call numbers and individual portals. It must have taken him many hours to carve, even with a well-tuned laser chisel.

Janeway put a hand out toward the gift, then hesitated. "You didn't have to bring me anything," she said. "This isn't a date, it's a …" and then words failed her. If he was Valjean, she reflected, did that make her Inspector Javert? Did he see her that way: vindictive, merciless, with no compassion for his people's suffering? She could certainly relieve his concerns on that count. She had great sympathy for the Maquis. Although in the Alpha quadrant she had been duty-bound to enforce Starfleet's hardline position against them, personally she had considered it overly harsh. And the little carved ship was beautiful – a touching, thoughtful offering from one captain to another of the thing he had sacrificed for the good of them all.

"It's a ritual," Chakotay finished for her. "I know. My people are strong believers in ritual. Rituals require physical objects to carry the meaning forward. This little ship represents what I was fighting for. It's important to me that you understand why we were out there in the Badlands."

"I see," Janeway said. "In that case, I accept it. Thank you. I want to know more about why you joined the Maquis. I want to understand." She opened her right hand, palm up, and let him set the wooden ship on it. His hand slid around the edge of hers and she shivered involuntarily.

"Don't be afraid," he said. "I won't hurt you."

Her glare was back in an instant at the suggestion of weakness. "I'm not afraid," she snapped, then immediately regretted her tone. Janeway turned and walked to a shelf where she settled the ship carefully next to a small collection of old, printed books. She pivoted to face him with a firm stance. "I've been searching the database for information on the nature of the ritual, but as you might imagine, accounts are sparse. There are a few versions in fiction, but I question their accuracy."

Chakotay's lips moved into a close-mouthed smile that showed his dimples. "I don't think there's a script for this…. It feels awkward to call you Captain in this situation. What would you like me to call you?"

"I suppose … you may call me Kathryn, in this situation," she said with a stiffness she did not intend but could not seem to control. "What is your first name, Commander Chakotay?" She knew the answer, of course, but she wanted to make a friendly response.

"My name is Amal Kotay," he answered. "But everyone calls me Chakotay. Usually they mispronounce it, but I don't mind."

"ChaKOtay?" she attempted. She knew little of the hybrid language his refugee people had developed in exile on Dorvan 5, a mix of Hidatsa, Navajo, and Algonquin language heritage, she had read.

"Not quite. In our language, each syllable of the name has separate emphasis. It doesn't run together. _Cha-ko-tay_," he said. She repeated and he instructed several more times until he was satisfied. "That's it," he finally smiled. "Now you say my name the way my sister does. It's good to hear."

"I'm glad," Janeway said. "We'll all need a little bit of home out here." As if suddenly aware that she had a guest in her quarters, Janeway swung an arm toward the cushion under the viewport. "I'm sorry, would you like something to drink?"

"Some wine might be good for both of us," Chakotay suggested. "Red?"

"Of course," Janeway agreed. As she went to the replicator, he took a seat on the cushion beneath the viewport, as she had indicated. She was relieved to see him respond to her prompt. There was room enough there on the long seat for them to face each other and talk without touching. She was not ready yet for physical contact. She hoped very much that he wouldn't be aggressive about it.

This would have been easier in some ways if he'd come from a very aggressive species. Klingon mating, for example, would have been a brute physical exercise from which she could easily detach. She sensed that mating with Amal Kotay would require a far higher degree of genuine intimacy. Of _that_, yes, she was a little afraid. Janeway took the bottle from the replicator, arranged a crisp, welcoming smile on her face, and turned toward her guest.

_To be continued…_


	5. Chapter 5

As she handed over Chakotay's glass of wine and sat, Janeway offered her opening gambit: "Your Starfleet dossier is a fascinating read, but it doesn't answer the most important question about you."

He smiled. "Why I'd throw away my brilliant career to haul this Maquis rabble around the quadrant in a ship on its last legs?"

Janeway took a sip. "I might have put it more diplomatically than that, but you've got the general idea."

Chakotay tasted the wine. "Not bad. It's been a while since I enjoyed the luxuries of an Intrepid-class starship."

Janeway leaned forward enough to leave just a few inches between them. If anyone was going to get aggressive enough to make this work, it might have to be her. "I know that you know the specs of my ship. This is a Captains' Dance, Chakotay. You requested it. Force yourself to get personal." She sat back with raised eyebrows and waited.

He lifted his glass with an appreciative look. "Touché … Kathryn." He took a bigger sip of wine and seemed to consider. "The truth is that I couldn't sit still for it anymore. Not after the massacre. Every mission, every order I got, just boiled my blood. I couldn't believe that _my_ Starfleet – this organization I'd idolized since childhood – wasn't tearing the galaxy apart to bring justice to my people. I wanted to spit in the eye of every admiral who sent me on a trade mission. How's that for personal?"

"It's better," Janeway conceded. She could remember times when she'd chafed under Starfleet orders too. Should she confess that, or would it lead him to think that she'd be willing to compromise Starfleet principles to get them home? She wouldn't, and he needed to know it.

He shifted to face her more directly as she lapsed into reverie. "How about you? Have you ever had doubts about Starfleet, or are you the ideal gung-ho captain?"

"I wasn't aware that a gung-ho captain was the ideal," she parried. "I don't know about you, but my command training emphasized subtlety over the cavalry charge."

Chakotay emptied his glass and reached to refill it and hers. She had no idea how much synthehol he normally consumed, but she felt sure that he was drinking to drown nerves, just as she was. It was a bold chess player's move, asking for a Captain's Dance. She admired it. He must have known that she'd feel compelled to take the dare.

"You know what I mean," he said as they lifted more wine to their lips. "The Academy gunners who shot to the top of the ranks while the rest of us were trying to figure out how to get our pips in a straight line. I see some of that in you, but there's something else. Some loss, would be my guess. It's tempered you."

If he could see that, she thought, when she'd tried so hard to bury it, how much farther could he see into her soul? She cleared her throat as an old, ugly memory caught there.

"Yes, I've known loss," she answered. "Have you read my file?"

He shook his head, and again she found that she believed him, for no better reason than his honest face and her own instincts. "I haven't had the pleasure," he said. "You don't have to talk about it if it's painful for you."

She drank more wine. "It is painful," she admitted. "But I think I do have to talk about it, if this exchange of ours is going to be worth anything. Most people who know me know that I lost my father under the polar ice cap on Tau Ceti Prime. Less commonly known is the fact that the young ensign who died with him was my first fiancé, Justin Tighe. I had … great difficulty recovering from their loss."

Chakotay had lowered his glass to listen with perfect attention. "I'm very sorry," he said.

"There have been other incidents. In my first command, the USS Billings, there was a terrible incident – you don't need to hear the grim details, but it marked me. Perhaps my greatest fear is making a mistake that will bring my crew into harm's way."

Chakotay stretched out his hand to cover hers where it lay on the cushion between them. "That is my greatest fear, too."

Janeway stared first at their hands, then at his face, scanning it for sincerity. "The crew will face dangers here that neither of us can imagine, let alone prepare for," she said. "There is no room for not trusting each other. If there's anything you need to know about me, ask me now. I'll do my best to answer."

His eyes were scanning her too, taking in all the evidence of her voice, her posture, her words, surely trying to make the same sorts of gut judgments she was attempting to make. They studied each other's faces, barely blinking, with an intensity that would have sent her running from the room in any other situation. With Chakotay in this fateful hour, though, she felt that looking through his eyes to whatever lay behind them was the only way to ensure some measure of safety for her crew.

At length, apparently satisfied with what he had seen, Chakotay dropped his gaze. He rubbed his hand against hers and said gently, "Tell me about your childhood."

_To be continued…_

_Author's note: Your reviews are wonderful and very motivational! Thank you!_


	6. Chapter 6

"What do you read?" Chakotay asked at some late point in the conversation, after both had kicked off their boots and settled more comfortably onto the cushions.

Over a couple of bottles of wine and some salty replicated snacks whose remains now littered the table beside them, Janeway and Chakotay had meandered through the territory of their respective childhoods, first loves, first commands, favorites and dislikes, raunchy jokes, and a great many common acquaintances whose quirks and mishaps they shared freely, with great laughter.

Hours had passed. She was sleepy, but the conversation carried her. She didn't want it to end. He turned out to be a rare combination of profound and irreverent. She was fast arriving at the conclusion that a long journey with such a man was not a thing to dread. And so few people understood, as Chakotay plainly did, both her tightly regimented world and the fact that beneath the rank, she was still a human being. Somehow, he saw her.

Their legs touched at the center of the cushion and as they spoke, they emphasized their words with casual contact: a pat on an arm or a light, backhanded slap to a leg. When he noticed her rubbing away the strain of those high-heeled boots, he took her foot between his hands and massaged it until the cramp subsided, then did the same for the other foot. She lay back against the cushions and watched him through half-closed eyes, trying not to make any noise that would betray how good his touch felt.

Janeway noticed how he mirrored her gestures toward him and never reached farther or with more pressure than she already had. She had tested him a few times. His responses were consistent. She lay a hand on his shoulder as she shared a story, and reliably, a few minutes later he touched her the same way. Once when he squeezed her shoulder, she moved to sit under his arm, legs curled under her, resting against him. Chakotay snugged her closer, but his hand didn't wander. She began to feel comfortable, even safe, in their growing proximity. His large mass beside her was not a threat but a warm, protective bulwark.

His question about reading reminded her of a recent gift, a book she'd been reading a few treasured pages at a time before she fell asleep. It was an easy sort of revelation to share, but also something precious and personal that she was happy to offer up in response to his kindness.

Janeway smiled. "I'll show you."

When she came back from the bedroom, he reached for the book. She settled back in, toes tucked under his calf, and pulled a blanket over their legs as he paged through the volume. His voice was an irresistible caress as he chose a passage from Dante and began to read.

_From then on I say that Amor governed my soul, which was so soon wedded to him, and began to acquire over me such certainty and command, through the power my imagination gave him, that I was forced to carry out his wishes fully. He commanded me many times to discover whether I might catch sight of this most tender of angels, so that in my boyhood I many times went searching, and saw her to be of such noble and praiseworthy manners, that certainly might be said of her those words of the poet Homer: 'She did not seem to be the daughter of a mortal man, but of a god'. And though her image, that which was continually with me, was a device of Amor's to govern me, it was nevertheless so noble a virtue that it never allowed Amor to rule me without the loyal counsel of reason in all those things where such counsel was usefully heard._

The sound soothed Janeway to the point that she began to nod against the cushion behind her. She was almost fully asleep when the voice ceased. A moment later, drifting at the edge of consciousness, she felt strong arms around her shoulders and under her knees. It was a feeling she knew from childhood, the perfect safety of being carried sleeping to bed by strong and loving arms. Automatically, she stretched her arms around Chakotay's neck and let her head loll against his chest.

Somewhere between the couch and the bed, her head cleared enough to realize what was happening. The evening had been so charming and quiet, with such sweet confidences exchanged and the building of such a surprising bond, that she had begun to believe that their emotional connection would suffice and they would never progress to the more physical elements of the Captains' Dance. She now knew and trusted Chakotay far more than she had when he had first arrived at her door that night – more than almost anyone she knew, remarkable in such a short time – but she could not ignore the fact that he was now stretching her out on her bed.

_To be continued…_


	7. Chapter 7

She had to take control of the situation. Whatever happened tonight would shape their command relationship. He would draw important conclusions from it, as would she. She could not allow him to dominate. As Chakotay settled her head on the pillow, Janeway cupped his neck with a hand and pulled his head to hers for a first exploratory kiss. He smelled of wine and warm wool. The sensation of his lips grazing her upper lip, barely touching, was electric. She had kissed him close-mouthed, but he seemed to gasp at the moment of contact. The invitation of his open mouth drew her in, and up, until she had raised off the bed to clutch him against her and kiss him like a sailor farewelling a sweetheart before a long sea voyage.

He looked surprised as they pulled apart, just for a second, then lowered his head hungrily for another kiss. His hand slid to her hair to probe its careful arrangement. She raised her hands to pull out the pins as his gentle fingers tumbled the long curls around her shoulders. The bed bounced under them as Chakotay lowered his weight onto one knee to ease her down and spread her hair on the white pillows. He drew back to take in the effect.

"Your hair is so beautiful," he said with a face full of wonder. "You are so beautiful."

Janeway swallowed hard. She had already decided to participate in the ritual. She had made the decision for purely practical reasons and had no intention of backing out. Kathryn Janeway never backed out. Now, though, as Chakotay leaned over her, his kind face altered by desire, she found her body responding out of instinct rather than intent. She reached for the fastening of his vest as his fingers opened her jacket, still matching her pace. She sat up to let him push the jacket off her shoulders and drop it beside the vest. His hands raised gooseflesh through her shirt as they slid down her shoulders and arms.

They were both still fully clothed – they could rush to the bridge like this for a sudden red alert if they had to – but she suddenly felt more exposed than if she'd met him naked at the door. They were really going to do this. What was even more incredible, she _wanted_ it, badly, and surely he could see that in her face, as she could see it in his. Far from humiliated, she felt exhilarated by her own primal response.

He unfolded himself on top of her and they rolled together in a long, probing kiss, the weight of him not a burden but an inexpressible delight. Her hands pushed under his shirt to the warmth beneath and his arms pulled her tight, so that every part of her came in contact with the corresponding part of him, breast to breast, groin to groin. He was already very hard. The feel of him like that against her leg triggered every sexual response in her like a fist on a control panel. She was wet and hard and frantic for him all at once.

Janeway tried to claw her way back to rational thought and consider her next move as Chakotay's mouth moved softly along her jawline and began to descend her neck, his lips pushing down her collar to nip at the soft skin beneath while his hand pulled the garment loose. He was ardent but not forceful. She felt sure that she could push him away at any moment and he would simply sit up, pull on his vest, find his boots, and leave her alone. But that in itself would establish a debt that she couldn't allow, not to mention making her appear weak, as if his sexuality frightened her.

Having commenced the ritual, she had to see it through, and she had to lead. It wasn't just that, she confessed to herself in a last moment of lucidity before he unfastened her bra. Duty had left the picture. She wanted him more than she could remember wanting any other man – although at the moment, she couldn't think of a single other man's face or name. There was only Chakotay, pulling his shirt over his head to reveal a muscled brown chest for an instant before he lowered himself back to her. She stretched out a hand to open his waistband and reach below it for what the leather trousers barely concealed. His bass moan vibrated through her, gratified her, and lit her on fire all at once.


	8. Chapter 8

_Thank you very much for the reviews and follows and favorites – you're keeping me going as I squeeze this in among work crises!_

Afterward, they rested tangled together, sweaty and spent. Janeway felt drunk and elated and mildly panicked all at once. Synthehol didn't have this effect. She had expected competent, fairly mechanical sex during which she would lie back and think of Starfleet – not a tilt in the rotation of the planets. She had no idea how to recover from what she had just experienced and return to a professional command relationship with this man. She would have to deal with that tomorrow.

For now, she let him hold her close to his chest and spread her long hair across his skin, dropping occasional feather-light kisses on her head. She wanted this to continue approximately forever. Her fingers moved through the sparse hairs on his sternum. In contrast to the thick brush on top of his head, the rest of him was exceptionally smooth for a man. The dim light filtering from the main room allowed her to admire the contrast between their skin colors: her pale fingers, his tawny skin rising and falling under them as he breathed.

"I have a confession," he said against her forehead, where it lay along his cheek.

"Tonight is the night for that," she answered. Her hand wandered lower on his torso, designing tiny patterns on his skin, tracing out his tattoo from memory. Somewhere in the last lost half hour or so, had she traced it with her tongue? She was afraid she had. He moaned lightly and put his hand over hers to still it.

"When I asked for a Captains' Dance, I didn't really think it would go this far," he admitted. She felt his lips moving against her hair but the words didn't entirely register.

"Hmm?" Janeway hummed in a sleepy tone, eyes half closed. "This is the ritual, isn't it?"

"Yes, but … when you fell asleep out there, I thought that would be the end of it. I didn't want to wake you, as hard as you've been working. You were just so beautiful, sleeping that way, that I couldn't resist carrying you in here. I thought you'd probably tell me off for picking you up like that. Then when you kissed me … well, I didn't expect you to seduce me." He chuckled and she felt the warm rumble in his belly. "Although I'm very glad you did."

"_I_ seduced _you_?" Janeway propped herself on an elbow to see if he was serious. Her hair fell around her and his eyes went involuntarily to her bare chest. She forced herself to brave his gaze and not pull up the sheet. She had never had much use for false modesty. He was here to learn about her character – let him learn. "You're the one who demanded a Captains' Dance. _You_ came here, brought me a present, rubbed my feet, told me about your Nana, read me _poetry_ of all things – and then you carried me into the bedroom and climbed on my bed. I'll admit to not being the most sexually experienced woman on board, but I know when I've been seduced."

His eyes showed amusement, but he had the sense not to laugh any more. "I'm not complaining in the least. Nor am I denying that I wanted you the moment I laid eyes on you. But I certainly wouldn't have pressed the issue if you'd seemed reluctant tonight. I just didn't expect you to be … assertive … the way you were." He put his hand to her face with an expression of such tenderness – she had expected assertiveness from him, but never this kind of openness – that she swallowed again. "You've been the most extraordinary surprise, Kathryn."

She saw him studying her for any response. He had been an extraordinary surprise to her, too. Part of her longed to open her heart and tell him how deeply he had touched her – but she must think like a captain, not like a woman. She had to keep her wits about her. This was the Captains' Dance. She had one chance, this one night, to secure his permanent loyalty, for the good – the survival – of both their crews. It was no time for half measures or foggy sentimentality.

Janeway raised up and threw a leg over to sit on top of him. "Do I seem reluctant to you?" she purred as she lowered her breasts to graze his skin.

Chakotay sank his fingers into her hair and lifted his head so that their faces were very close together. "You seem like every fantasy I've ever had, rolled into one," he said in a strained voice and rolled her under him again.


	9. Chapter 9

_Author's Note: The longest chapter by far. Janeway had some ground to cover. Thanks again for all your encouragement!_

Captain Kathryn Janeway sat watching the man beside her, the near-stranger she must now trust with the lives of all her crew. It was very late, or very early. She didn't want to wake Chakotay by asking the computer for the time. They had awakened a second time during the night to fall on each other with such raw need that she wasn't even sure it was sex they were having. This was something beyond. They seemed about to consume each other.

Now Chakotay slept again beside her, sprawled on his back. Janeway was naked, exhausted, sore, hoarse, and in such an aggravated state of arousal that even the brush of cool sheets against her skin was almost unbearable. She might collapse into orgasm again if she tried to cover herself, so she sat bared to the room, legs apart and bent, propped on her arms, letting the air currents soothe her flesh. She was covered in their shared juices and wanted a bath and fresh sheets, but that would come later, after he had drawn the last smothered screams from her throat. She sincerely hoped there were a few left. She was counting on it.

She should be passed out like Chakotay, but instead she was wide awake, trying to parse the meaning of their Captains' Dance and all that would flow from it. The terms of the ritual were clear. After this night, they would never speak again of what they had shared. It would be like the hidden foundation stone on which a building rests, never seen but indispensable.

She and Chakotay would sit beside each other on the bridge and allow lust to subside like a tide flowing out, leaving behind the flotsam and jetsam of their daily work routine, schedules and surveys, reports and emergencies, all the quotidian boredom and adrenalin that she hoped would quickly bury the memory of this night. They would confer over staff issues in her ready room and pretend that neither of them was thinking of the curves and indentations of the other's naked body or the way their voices harmonized when crying out in climax. It would be difficult at first, but they would manage. The years would take care of it.

Her eyes traversed the room in search of a calming place to rest and fell on the image of her family on the small table beside the door. Her fiancé Mark was in the back row with a big grin, holding her little cousin Jeri. Mark had always longed for children. She'd put him off for years – always another mission, another promotion – to the point where he seemed to have given up the idea. Dear, tolerant Mark. Janeway smiled indulgently, then realized with a start that she hadn't thought of Mark for a moment after Chakotay had put his hands on her.

She'd prepared herself for guilt and shame and schooled her mind to accept the professional necessity of a successful Captains' Dance, but in all her mental calculations, she had never imagined that in Chakotay's arms, she would forget Mark entirely. Now that she considered the contrast between Mark's occasional, tepid lovemaking, which emphasized cuddling far more than the act of sex, and everything she had just done – frenzied and wanton – with Chakotay, her first genuine blush of the entire evening crept up her bare throat. Mark wouldn't have recognized her. She hardly recognized herself, she realized, as her thoughts drifted back over the last few hours and triggered fresh moisture between her legs.

Her light startle at her thoughts about Mark had disturbed Chakotay enough that he rolled against her and stretched a heavy arm around her, possessive already. At the feeling of her sitting up, he opened his eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asked. His hand came up her chest – a warm, exploring lover's caress that made her whole body tremble – to stroke her jawbone.

"I'm okay," she promised as she slid down against the pillows to face him. Her hair fell around her. He curled a long lock through his fingers and brushed it across his lips.

"I don't want this night to end," he said. His fingers roamed across the tops of her breasts. "I know there are things we aren't supposed to say, but you've astonished me in so many ways, Kathryn. You are so … beautiful, and wise, and brave. I've never felt this way about anyone."

_Anyone. _In her ready room, when he had mentioned his relationship with a Maquis, Janeway had felt nothing. But now, his words resonated all through her. The idea of someone else's claim on him struck deep down in the taut muscles of her belly. She clenched her body against the sensation and clasped his hand.

"We can't say anything that reaches outside this room or this night," Janeway answered. "That's the only way this works. Maybe one day we'll be in a place where we can return to these feelings, but not here. Not aboard this ship. Maybe not ever."

Chakotay's dark eyes were inscrutable. He looked as if he wanted to say more, or was having some internal conversation she wished she could hear. Finally he kissed her nose, loosed his warm hand from hers to run it down her side and onto her hip, and said, "Then I want to make love to you again. While there's still time."

As his mouth moved over her body, not consuming this time but reverent, she tried to memorize the feeling, in case this was the last time. There might be long years ahead when she would have to play the dutiful captain, uphold all the protocols, with this man at her side but hopelessly distanced. She would have to remember their bond, but forget what she had felt. So much might happen. Surely there would be conflict. There might be other relationships – more likely his than hers. She would have to accept them, even encourage him to find his happiness elsewhere. She could not presume to hold him on the strength of this one night, no matter how much it meant to each of them.

Sunek's words came back to her, amplified and elaborated in new and alarming ways. The risk was not the sort of risk she had expected. She had not calculated the possibility of losing her heart, or receiving a worthy heart that she was in no position to accept. As her limbs shivered under Chakotay's touch, she suddenly wanted to weep, but her training was there, as always, as a safety net: _An admiral's daughter never cries. _This was a test, after all – a diplomatic maneuver of the highest order. This was the Captains' Dance, and she would keep dancing until the music stopped.

_To be continued…_


	10. Chapter 10

_Author's Note: Well, the last chapter seems to have been a buzzkill. It's a shame, it's my favorite chapter. But don't worry, it's not over yet, and I'm a sucker for a happy ending, even if it's overdue. - CL_

When the computer chirped its gentle morning alert, Janeway awoke with her back to Chakotay, head pillowed on his arm, his other arm across her loosely and their fingers twined together, as they had slept. She inhaled and exhaled a deep, controlled breath. The Captains' Dance was over. Now was the time to consolidate the advantage she had gained.

Today, Chakotay would put on a Starfleet uniform and take the first officer's chair. Today, he would order his crew to unify with hers, into the one Starfleet crew that would get them home. She had done the necessary thing, and if in the years to come the cost seemed higher than she might have chosen willingly, there was nothing to do about that but endure.

Janeway slid out of bed and wrapped her robe around her. Chakotay lay still with an expression of such deep peace and satisfaction that she couldn't bear to disturb him just yet. When she returned to the bedroom from her sonic shower, he was collecting pieces of his clothing from the floor around the bed, stark naked. She stopped short, struck by his smooth flow of muscle, something Michelangelo would have sculpted.

When he noticed her in the doorway, he faced her and held the clothes in front of him automatically. Their intimacy of the night before had already dissipated, she realized with a dull pang. It would be like this between them from now on. The barriers they had taken down would rise again and there was no telling when or if they would ever fall again. She tightened the belt on her robe and stepped forward to retrieve and hand him his shirt. The touch that passed between them in the handoff made them both step backward. Without a word, she moved into the main room to coax her first coffee from the replicator.

When Chakotay had dressed, he came to set her coffee on the desk and take both her hands in his. Janeway looked up to see that his eyes were not quite the same shade of angry black she remembered from those first few moments on the bridge. Something ineffable had changed in him. Something had lightened.

"Thank you, Kathryn," he said. "I know we won't be able to speak of it, but I will never forget this night. I promise you that."

She couldn't suppress her sigh. She rested one hand on his chest, trying to reach him, make him understand what she must do. His heart pounded under her palm. "You must not promise me anything, Chakotay. We could be out here for years. We'll be a strong team now, I'm sure of that, but we have to do our best to forget the rest of this."

He lifted his hand to her neck, which had grown as tense and stiff as ever in the minutes since she'd risen from their shared bed. With a subtle grip, he freed the tension. She felt her shoulders relax and drop. Another sigh escaped her lips, this time a sound of release … and regret.

"I won't forget," he said with a firm clasp on her shoulder. "And I do promise."

With a small, determined thrust of his chin, Chakotay took his hands off her and walked out the door without looking back. She held herself upright, almost on tiptoe, until the doors closed. If he had looked back, she was not sure that she could have kept herself from running to him and begging him to stay, move into her quarters – but it was better this way.

Janeway staggered a step and put both hands on her desk for the strength to stand. Left alone, the greatest challenge of her life entirely ahead of her, she cast her gaze across the room to the tiny wooden ship balanced on a shelf. Chakotay had been right. He hadn't hurt her. He had given her exactly what she needed, no matter how difficult the gift was to accept right now. She hoped she had done the same for him.

An hour later, Janeway was on the bridge when Chakotay entered. He was wearing his Starfleet uniform for the first time, hair slicked back, pips on straight, every inch the Starfleet first officer, with only the tattoo hinting at all that lay beneath. She nodded a greeting without a flicker of familiarity and gestured for him to stand before his chair as she circled the bridge, preparing for the speech the crew so badly needed.

"We are alone," she began, "in an uncharted part of the galaxy. We've already made some friends here, and some enemies. We have no idea of the dangers we're going to face. But one thing is clear: both crews are going to have to work together if we're to survive. That's why Commander Chakotay and I have agreed that this should be one crew – a Starfleet crew."

Janeway paused long enough to look Chakotay in the eye and show him that there would be no discomfort or avoidance between them. They had made their bargain and performed their ritual. He met her gaze with the steady support she had already come to expect from him. The Captains' Dance was forever behind them now. The great voyage lay ahead.

"Set a course," she ordered, "for home."

_Epilogue to follow…_


	11. Epilogue

_Author's Note: Well, I couldn't just leave them like that, could I?_

Epilogue

The hum of docking and departing starships penetrated the captain's quarters as Voyager sat at Proxima Station, gleaming with nano-level maintenance and updated parts. Chakotay stirred and pulled Janeway closer.

"Do you remember the last time we were here, like this?" he asked.

"At Proxima?" she asked, limp with contentment and drifting.

"No," he said. "Here. You in my arms, in this bed."

She was awake instantly. "Yes. I remember. The Captains' Dance."

"You told me I had to forget. I never could."

She tightened her arm around his chest. "I tried to forget. I couldn't either." Janeway climbed on top of him, just as she had all those years ago on the far edge of the Delta quadrant. This time she had no purr but a sad, thoughtful face as she studied the new lines and silver hairs he had acquired since the last time they had been this close. They had wasted so many years – but waste was the wrong word. They had brought nearly all their crew home alive and well. She could never regret that. "You were right, you know. I was trying to seduce you that night. I thought it was the best way to win your loyalty."

His dimples creased as his eyes lit with the same amusement he had so often when he looked at her, as if whatever she did was a source of delight to him, although she couldn't fathom why. She'd caused most of those silver hairs, she was sure of it. "You didn't have to seduce me, Kathryn. You had me at 'You are speaking to a member of my crew.'"

She closed in for a kiss, stretched out along the length of him and rested her chin on her hands, inches from his face. "There was so much I wanted to tell you that night. How much you moved me. The connection I felt. I knew it was over between me and Mark that night, although it took me years to admit it to myself openly. I thought I'd never get to tell you – and then later, it seemed as if you'd forgotten after all." She inhaled hard. "It was a mistake, of course. That Captains' Dance. Those years would have been far easier if I hadn't been in love with you. Probably easier for you, too.

His face grew tender as his arms wrapped around her. "It was no mistake, Kathryn. It meant the world to me, even when I was acting like an ass. What was it your professor said? Something about the value correlating to the risk?"

Janeway nudged his chin with her nose and nodded. "Sunek. Yes. The value correlates highly with the risk."

Chakotay's laugh shook both of them. It was so good to hear him – _feel _him laugh. He had seemed to forget how, later in their journey. That had been her fault too. "That sounds like a perfect description of falling in love with Kathryn Janeway."

Janeway grinned and scooted up to look him in the eye. "If that's how you feel about it, Captain, I'd better improve the value proposition." She dropped her mouth to his, determined to drive from his mind all thought of the Captains' Dance and the long, hard years when they'd held each other at arm's length – at least for the moment. Chakotay stretched under her like a satisfied feline and willingly succumbed.

END


End file.
